She said, “Sacramento- that’s the beginning.”
She put another cigarette in her mouth. Milo lit it for her.
She smoked for a while.
Milo said, “Sacramento.”
“Yeah. That’s where I met him. I had a place there. My own place, smaller and not as quality as this one, but my own, also.”
Milo said, “Always been an independent, have you, Cheri?”
Her mouth tightened. “Not always. But I learn. I pride myself on that- learning from my mistakes.”
“How long ago?”
“Three years ago.”
“Where?”
“O Street, right up near the Capitol.”
“Doing your bit for good government?”
“You bet. More of them would a took more of what I gave, there’d be less strife, believe me.”
“Where you from originally?”
“Here. Inglewood.”
“How’d you get up to Sacramento?”
“I was in San Francisco first- three years. Moved ’cause I wanted things more quiet. And something I could do myself. Someone told me politicians were always wanting it- you had a seller’s market.”
“Recreation.”
She smiled. “Yeah. Being close to the action meant they could make their speeches in the morning, drop by for a lunchtime party, and go back to their speeches with a smile on their faces.”
“They,” said Milo. “How many others besides Massengil?”
“Lots, chief. It’s a company town. Not that fearless leaders was all I did. You had your doctors and your bankers, like any other place. But being there in that place, you did see lots of political types- aides, lobbyists, administrative assistants, all that shit. You learn to talk like them after a while.”
“Fun bunch?”
She grimaced. “Not hardly. I mean, they were free with the buck- expense accounts. But as a group, they had inclinations. If you know what I’m saying.”
“I don’t.”
“Kinky,” she said, as if talking to an idiot. “Mostly for tying-up. Bondage. Always wanting to be tied up or tying me up. Nearly every one of them. Got so when I took one on that I knew was political, I had the neckties and the ropes all ready. A few of them even wanted to be… embarrassed. Dirty stuff. Never seen so many people wanting to tie or to be tied. All horny about who was in charge. Then you’d turn on the TV, see those same faces you just saw all wrinkled up or wearing a leather mask, crying and pleading not to spank ’em, even though that’s what they really wanted- you’d see ’em giving speeches on the TV, going on about law and order, the American way, all that shit. Meanwhile, you’re knowing their idea of law and order is being hog-trussed.”
She laughed, filled her lungs with smoke. “Don’t it just make you want to run out and vote?”
Milo smiled. “Massengil a tyer or a tyee?”
“Tyee. Liked to have his arms and legs all bound up, so tight the blood was cut off. Then he’d stretch out and make me do all the work. Then afterwards, which was quick- with most of them it’s real quick”- she snapped her fingers-“I had to snuggle next to him like I was his mama and he’d latch onto my bubbies and talk like some little kid. Baby talk. Oogum snoogums for Mr. Law and Order.”
She laughed again, but looked uneasy.
“Real disillusioning,” she said, “isn’t it. High and mighty types running things, and what they really are is whining, bubby-sucking babies. Then, of course, there’s cops-”
“He ever get racial?”
“What do you mean?”
“Make racist comments? Want to set up some racist fantasy?”
“Nope,” she said. “Just the tying and the oogum talk.”
“How’d you meet him?”
“Through the other one?”
“Dobbs?”
“Uh-huh. He’s a doctor- psychiatrist. Liked to pretend this was all medical. Sex therapy. I should think of myself as his therapy assistant.”
“When’d you first meet Dobbs?”
“My last year in Frisco.”
“How?”
“Had this girlfriend of mine who got into the therapy thing- took a course or something and got this piece of paper saying she was legal. A surrogate. Dobbs taught the course, offered her a job. Used to send her people- patients- have her kick back some of the money to him. She made good, but he made better. Then when she moved out of town because her ex was threatening her, she gave him my name. I moved down to Sacramento and he started sending the people to me.”
“Even though you’re not legal.”
She smiled, “But I’m good, chief. I can be real patient- real therapeutic when I have to.”
“I’ll just bet you can, Cheri. What other politicians did Dobbs send you besides Assemblyman Massengil?”
“Just him,” she said. “It’s like they were special buddies.”
“What kind of special buddies?”
“Not fags or anything. Sometimes a couple of closet fags will use me to get into theirselves- doing a double and then accidentally one of their things brushes up against the other thing and we got a brand-new picture. But not them. They just used to show up, together. Like Sam needed Fatso to lead the way, and Fatso got off on setting things up.”
“He never sent anyone else to you?”
“Not down here.”
“What about Sacramento?”
“Okay, a couple. But after I did a little business with him, I didn’t want to do any more.”
“Why not?”
“He was a pig is why not. With Lorraine he’d taken fifty-five percent. With me he was wanting sixty. Finder’s fee. He said I needed him- his being involved made it legal. Threatening me.” She shook her head and rubbed one knee. “I went indy to get greedy pigs off my back. Told him bullshit, my being involved made it illegal for him and he had a lot more to lose than I did if the shit hit the fan. So we settled on twenty percent. Couple of months later, I had enough of my own business going, anyway. Taking a hundred percent. Didn’t want none of his, even with twenty percent, and told him so.”
“How’d he react to that?”
“Made a face but didn’t argue. And kept seeing me. With Sam. Sam had a thing for me.”
“Was he ever a client himself?”
“Once in a while.”
“Tyer or tyee?”
She shook her head. “All he wanted was wham-bam, Oh Jesus, oh Jesus!, roll his fat butt off, and fall asleep. Mostly he was a watcher- couple of times I caught him peeking through the door when I was with Sam. That gave me the creeps, but I didn’t say a thing. Didn’t cost me anything.”
“Where’s your trick book?”
“No trick book.” She tapped her coiffure. “Everything’s in here.”
“How about your calendar?”
“No calendar either. Each day passes I tear it up in little pieces and flush it down.”
“We’re gonna tear the place apart, Cheri.”
“Tear all you want. There’s no book. And don’t ask me to give you names- otherwise I will go downtown and suck AIDS breath.”
“Who knew Massengil was coming here?”
“No one knew. No one knew about anybody. That’s my specialty- discreetness. And with him I was extra-careful, ’cause he was so nervous about being caught, wouldn’t even leave his car out on the street. When he had an appointment, I cleared my calendar all day so they wouldn’t be running into anyone.”
“Considerate.”
“Fuck considerate,” she said. “I charged ’em for time lost.”
“Speaking of that, what kind of tariff are we talking about?”
“Four hundred an hour.” Wide smile. “More than my lawyer makes and I didn’t have to pass any bar tests.”
“Cash?”
“Nothing but.”
“How often did Massengil see you?”
“Three or four times a month.”
“What was the schedule?”
“What I told you- tying up, nuzzling bubbies, sometimes I’d feed them dinner. Then they’d leave and I had the whole night to myself, watch Johnny Carson.”
Milo said, “That’s not what I meant by schedule, Cheri. Which days of the week did they show up? What routine?”
“No routine. I’d get a call from Sam- or from Fatso- day or two before. Clear the calendar and they’d come by and we’d have a little party.”
“Always the two of them?”
“Always.” She turned thoughtful. “Maybe they were fags, really wanting to do a little dick-rubbing… I don’t know. I just know they never got into that here.”
“No schedule,” said Milo.
“No.”
“So how’d anyone know they were here?”
“Beats me. Maybe somebody followed ’em.”
“Followed ’em here and just waited, huh?”
She shrugged.
Milo said, “How’d the shooter know to wait for them to come out- know that the two of them wouldn’t be spending the night?”
“Not my thing,” she said, “spending the night. No one spends the night.”
“Who’d know that, besides you and your tricks?”
She was silent.
He said, “You’re gonna have to give us that book, Cheri.”
“I keep telling you there is no book.”
Milo sat back and crossed his legs. She smoked, touched her hair, rocked her foot. Finally she said, “I give you that, I’m finished.”
He said, “C’mon, Cheri. Two bodies out in back, one of them a public figure? You’re finished anyway.”
She smoked in silence some more. Pulled something out of an eyelash.
“Book’s in the bank. Safe deposit box.”
“Which bank?”
“I give it to you, you gonna help me move? Get me outa here safe, help me get my equity out of the building, plus keep my kid safe?”
“Where’s the kid?”
“Inglewood, with my mom.”
“How old?”
“Nine. Real smart, gotta great voice, sings in church.”
“What’s his name?”
“André.”
“André. I’ll do what I can for you and André.”
“Do what you can, huh? That’s politician talk, chief- just another way of saying fuck you.”
“Got a place to move?”
“Somewhere conservative. Uptight. Conservative folks get the horniest. Need an outlet.”
“Like the folks up in Sacramento.”
“Just like.”
“Why’d you move from there to L.A.?”
“We’re back asking questions?”
“That’s right. Why the move, Cheri?”
“It was his idea.”
“Dobbs’s or Massengil’s?”
“Sam. The Assemblyman. He really had a thing for me- a taste for me. Get a taste for something sweet and it’s like drugs, you never get enough.”
“Three or four times a month isn’t much of a fix.”
“He’s… he was old. What I gave him lasted. He really got off on it.”
“Why’d he want you to move down here?”
“Said he didn’t like having me so close to his workplace- Sacramento was a small town, loved gossip. Someone might find out. He found this place for me- some kind of special deal: The person died, left no will.”
“Probate?”
She nodded. “He knew all about probates, had all these land records because of his job. Said I should jump on this one. It was a bargain- all I had to do was put up some cash.”
“Did he help you with the down payment?”
“Not a penny. He would have, but I didn’t need him, had plenty of my own. I flew down here, saw the place, saw what I could do with it, and figured, why not? My place up there had appreciated, built up equity. Now I got at least a hundred and sixty equity on this one, maybe more.”
“What did he want in return?”
“Me. When he wanted me. Clearing my calendar so he didn’t bump into no one- no one would know.”
“No one except Dobbs.”
“That’s right.”
“Was Massengil aware that Dobbs was a peeper?”
“Don’t think so. Usually he had his eyes closed, all screwed up. But who knows? Maybe they had a little buddy-game going. I don’t try to get into their heads. I’m somewhere else when I’m doing it.”
“Four hundred an hour,” said Milo. “Three, four times a month. Nice chunk of cash-outlay.”
“He never complained.”
“Management consulting,” I said.
She looked at me. “Consulting. Yeah, I like that- that’s class. Maybe I’ll use that instead of Recreational Counselor.”
Milo said, “Tell me about tonight. Exactly the way it happened.”
She chain-lit another cigarette. “What happened is that they came here at nine-thirty, did their things-”
“Both of them?”
“This time, yeah. Piggy took sloppy seconds- he liked it that way, wouldn’t let me wash. And then I gave them something to eat. The Colonel. Legs and breasts and cole slaw and biscuits. Leftovers from the night before, but they ate it like it was fancy French cooking. Standing up, in the kitchen. Drank two cans each of my Diet Pepsi. Then they paid me and split. Money’s in my undies drawer- go check. Twelve hundred- twelve ones. New bills. I said to Sam, ‘What’d you do, honey, just print it?’ He liked that, laughed, and said, ‘That’s my job. I’m on the Finance Committee.’ After they were gone and I put the money away, I went into the bathroom, turned on the shower. To clean off, get them outa me. While the water was running I heard it- almost didn’t hear it ’cause of the water, but I did. Bang bang. I know that sound. Like a fool I looked out the window, saw them lying there, him running away. Like a fool I called and did my civic duty and now I’m sitting here talking to you, chief.”
Milo said, “Who’s him?”
“The shooter.”
“One guy?”
“One’s all I saw.”
“What’d he look like?”
“All I saw was his back- running behind the garage. There’s a low fence behind there. He probably got in that way- got out too. Rotten wood- I been meaning to put in a new one. You check, you’ll probably find some kind of footprint. There’s gotta be footprints ’cause it’s muddy back there, got a leaky sprinkler, the water settles. Someone had to leave footprints. You go on and check and see if I’m telling it straight.”
“Tell me more about the shooter.”
“Nothing more to tell. Dark clothes- I think. It was dark. I dunno.”
“Age?”
“Don’t know- probably young. He moved like he was young. Not like an old fart. I seen plenty of old farts move, believe me.”
“Height?”
“Not too tall or too short that I noticed. I mean, nothing hit me as being one way or the other- it was dark.”
“Weight?”
“Same story, chief. There was nothing special about him. Just a guy- I saw his back. It’s too far to see good. Go look for yourself through that window. And dark. I keep it that way, so people can park and get out without no one seeing ’em.”
“What did his face look like?”
“Never saw a face. Can’t even tell you if he was black or white.”
“What color were his hands?”
She thought. “Don’t recall. Don’t know if I even saw hands.”
“Average height and weight,” said Milo, reading from his notes. “Probably young.”
“That’s it- if I could tell you more, why wouldn’t I?”
“Black clothing.”
“Dark clothing. What I mean is, nothing shined out, like a light-colored shirt or anything, so it was probably dark.”
“What else?”
“That’s it.”
“Doesn’t add up to much, Cheri.”
“You think I’m gonna chase after him to get a closer look? I was stupid to look in the first place. Soon as my brain cleared and I realized what was happening, I dropped to the floor. Only reason I looked in the first place was I got caught by surprise. I mean, this was not what I expected to happen.”
She closed her eyes, held the cigarette with one hand, her elbow with the other. The robe came loose, exposing heavy, black-nippled breasts, between them an inch of mocha sternum.
Milo said, “How do I know for sure you didn’t finger them for the guy, Cheri?”
Her eyes opened, very wide. “’Cause I didn’t. Why would I do that and get myself all involved- do it in my backyard?”
“For the money.”
“Got enough money.”
“No such thing.”
She laughed. “True. But I didn’t. Give me the poly. I’m not that smooth.”
She let the robe open wider. Milo reached over and closed it, placed her hand on the outer flap, and said, “Anything else you want to tell me, Cheri?”
“Just get me outa here. Outa L.A. With André.”
“We’ll be checking everything out and if you’re being righteous, I’ll be righteous with you. Meanwhile, I do want you to call your attorney and tell him to meet you over at West L.A. Division. You’ll be driven over there and wait for me. It’ll take me a while to get over there. When I do, you’ll repeat the statement you just gave me in front of a video camera.”
“TV?”
He nodded. “Tonight you’re a star.”
She said, “The names I’ll give you- what’s in the book. But I won’t do that on tape.”
“Fair enough, long as you’re straight.”
“I will be. Bet on it.”
“I don’t bet much on anything anymore, Cheri.”
“This time you can, I swear it.” She crossed her heart.
He said, “What’s your attorney’s name?”
“Gittelman. Harvey M. Gittelman.”
“Even though you gave this of your own free will in front of a witness, I want Mr. Gittelman with you when we tape. He can shoot his mouth off all he wants, raise two-hundred-buck-an-hour objections. I get paid overtime, and I got nothing to go home to. After we’re finished you’ll be released in his custody and asked to stay in town for as long as we need you. If you make any attempt to leave town, I’ll put you in Sybil Brand as a material witness and André will miss his mama. You’re not gonna want to stay in this place, what with the way the lab boys are going to tear it apart and the way your neighbors are gonna relate to you after the shit hits the fan- which it will. Soon. So it’s okay for you to stay somewhere else, long as I know where it is and long as it’s in the county. You want to do business in the new place, keep up the mortgage, that’s fine with me too. Got it?”
“Got it. I swear it. But no business. Business means people, and people are problems. I need a vacation.”
“Up to you.” He stood.
She said, “When can I sell this place? Get my equity out?”
“If it turns out you’re not involved in the shooting I can clear it for you pretty soon- a month or so. If you’re fucking with me, I’ll tie it up for years. Not that it’ll matter, where you’d end up.”
She crossed her heart again. “I’m not fucking with you. God’s truth. All I want is my equity.”
She started to get up.
He said, “Sit there. Don’t move. I’m gonna call Officer Pelletier back and she’s gonna watch you while you get dressed. We’ll want that kimono to analyze. She’ll also put bags on your hands until one of the techs comes in and does a paraffin test. That’ll tell us if you’ve fired a gun lately- or worked with industrial-strength fertilizer.”
“Been working with plenty of shit,” she said. “But not that kind. And no gun. Bet on it.”
“You’ll also be printed so we can run you through NCIC. Any outstanding wants or warrants, better to tell me now.”
“Nothing. Bet on that too.”
“One thing I will bet on,” he said. “You’ve got half a dozen monikers.”
“Not that many. And I haven’t used them in a long time.”
“Give ’em to me anyway.”
She ticked off her fingers. “Sherry Nuveen, with an S, like the wine. Sherry Jackson. Cherry Jackson, with a C. Cherry Burgundy. Cherry Gomez- that’s when I had a spic on my back. He made me take his name, like we were married.”
“Nuveen your given name?”
She shook her head. “Mom’s second husband’s name. I took it when I was seven. Then he left.”
“What’s the name on your birth certificate?”
“Jackson. Sheryl Jane Jackson. With an S. DOB four/ eight/fifty-three, just like the license says. I look younger, don’t you think?”
“You look great,” he said.
She beamed. “Clean living.”
He said, “What’s the license plate stand for? On the Fiat. Cheri T.”
She smiled again. Batted her lashes and laid down a few more mascara tracks. Vamping in order to maintain composure.
“T is for Tart,” she said. “Cherry Tart. ’Cause that’s what I am. Sweet and juicy and filling.”
When we were just outside the front door I said, “Think she’s innocent?”
“Innocent?” He smiled. “You should see the way she’s got the guest bedroom set up. It’s a bondage museum- Marquis de Sade would feel right comfy. But of the shooting itself, probably. She’s right- why would she set them up on her home territory, then phone it in? That’s in terms of setting it up. In terms of her being the shooter herself, what’s the motive? Sometimes, in a whore situation, passions do get out of hand and someone gets hurt. But it’s usually the whore who’s the victim and it’s usually messy. This was neat. Planned. Very cold. Also, I had the tech look alongside the garage and he says it does look like fresh footprints. His educated guess is a man’s running shoe, medium size. None of which will mean shit if she flunks the paraffin test and we find the gun in her undie drawer. I’ll be putting her through her paces all night and most of the morning, see if I can get anything more out of her.”
“Dark clothes,” I said. “It’s also the way Holly was dressed when she camped out in the storage shed.”
“So what’re you saying? Back to the cabal? Roving bands of teenage ninja assassins?”
I said, “Anything’s possible.”
He didn’t argue.
He got my keys back from Burdette and found out where the Seville was parked. Then he told Pelletier- a five-foot blonde with a pixie chin- to bag Sheryl Jackson’s hands and take her back to the station. As we left the duplex, a couple of other West L.A. detectives showed up. He told me to stay put, went over to them and filled them in, giving them instructions about searching Jackson’s apartment and ordering them not to talk to the press until he’d finished reinterviewing her.
A few spectators had come out on the sidewalk. Uniforms kept them at a distance. Several vans with TV station logos had pulled up to the barricade. Reporters and camera crews were milling around, setting up lights.
Milo said, “After me, the deluge.”
We began walking to the Seville. A sports-car rumble sounded down the block and a peacock-blue Pontiac Fiero with three antennas sprouting from the roof sped to the barricade, backed up at a noisy twenty miles per, and parked at the curb.
Lieutenant Frisk got out, took in the scene, spotted us, then came forward in a smooth, loose stride. He was wearing a shawl-collar black tuxedo with a pleat-fronted, wing-collared shirt, scarlet tie, and matching handkerchief. As he came toward us, I saw a woman get out of the Fiero- young, tall, fashion-model figure, cover-girl face, long dark frizzed hair. Her black taffeta cocktail dress showed off gleaming shoulders. She looked around, glanced in the little blue car’s side mirror, and glossed her lips. One of the uniforms waved to her. She didn’t see it or else ignored it, primped some more, and got back in the car.
“Sergeant,” said Frisk.
“Evening on the town, Ken?” said Milo.
Frisk frowned. “Is the victim’s identity verified, Detective?”
“Yeah, it’s him. The other one’s Dobbs, the psychologist who looks like Santa.”
Frisk turned his attention to me. “What’s he doing here, Detective?”
“He was with me when the call came in. No time to drop him off.”
Frisk looked as if he were struggling to bring up gas. “C’mere, Sergeant.”
The two of them walked a few yards away. The beam of a streetlamp allowed me to see them clearly. Frisk pointed at Milo and said something. Milo answered. Frisk pulled out a pad and pen and began writing. Milo said something else. Frisk kept writing. Milo ran his hand over his face and spoke again. Frisk looked irritated but continued writing. Milo talked, rubbed his face, bounced on the balls of his feet.
Frisk put the pad away and said something that made Milo’s face darken. He kept talking, wagged a finger. Milo wagged back.
Their body language grew progressively combative- hands fisted, faces thrust forward, chins extended like bayonets. It reminded me of my boxing print. Milo used his size to advantage, looming over Frisk. Frisk defended by rising on the balls of his feet, doing lots of tight, jabbing things with his hands. They began talking simultaneously- talking over each other, competing for air space. Other policemen were starting to notice, shifting their attention from the crime scene to what was happening under the lamppost. I could see Frisk’s neck muscles straining; Milo’s arms were down now, stiff at his side, his hands still rolled into fists.
Frisk made a conscious effort to relax, smiled, and gave a dismissive wave. Milo shouted something. He must have sprayed Frisk with spit, because the younger man stepped back several paces, yanked his red handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his face. Frisk smiled again and spoke. Milo flinched as if he’d been slapped. His fingers opened, curled, and tightened. Frisks turn to rock on the balls of his feet. Subtly, but eagerly, like a hungry welterweight. For a moment I was certain they were going to come to blows. Then Frisk turned heel and stomped away.
Milo watched him go, knuckling his chin. Frisk called a uniformed cop over, talked rapidly, began pointing at the murder duplex. The cop nodded and crossed the street to the building. The dark-haired young woman stepped out of the Fiero again. Frisk whipped his head in her direction and gave her a hard look. She got back in the car.
I looked over at Milo. He was staring at the growing hubbub near the barricade, a frightful look on his face. I stayed in place, catching curious glances from cops. Finally Milo saw me and waved me over.
“Get me the hell outa here, Alex.”
The Seville was parked facing south. I drove away from the crime scene, got on Olympic, heading west. We didn’t talk all the way to Beverly Glen. As I turned off, he said, “The slick fuck.”
“What’d he do, take over?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“He can do that? Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“That mean he suspects it’s political?”
“He doesn’t suspect shit. No one knows shit- it’s too early to know shit, goddammit. What it means is that he sees it as a goddam juicy one. More TV time, chance to wear another fancy suit. Kenny do love his press conferences.”
“Kenny,” I said. “Out on the town with Barbie- there’s a real Kenny and Barbie.”
“That’s Mrs. Kenny. The adorable, spoiled Kathy. Assistant Chief’s favorite daughter.”
“Oh.”
“Oh.”
I drove quickly up the Glen, reached the bridle path that leads to the house, and turned onto it. Though the view out the passenger window was solid black, Milo was staring at it, rubbing his face.
I said, “Did he do anything else to piss you off?”
“To piss me off? Nah. Just implied that you and I had a romantic thing going- gave a dirty little smile and told me I should think twice before bringing my friends to crime scenes. When I asked him to clarify that, he said I knew what he meant. I kept bugging him. Finally he let it out: People of my ilk were ill-suited for security cases. Ill-suited for guarding the public safety.”
I blew out air. “Okay. So it’s the same old limited thinking. Not the first time, won’t be the last.” But I couldn’t help thinking it was the same thing he and I had suspected about Dinwiddie and Ike.
He grunted.
I said, “Is it safe to ask you what you think?”
“About what?”
“Massengil. Whodunit. Think there’s any relationship to Holly? Or Novato and Gruenberg?”
“Who the hell knows, Alex? What’re you trying to do, make me feel downright impotent?”
I said nothing, pulled up in front of the house.
He said, “All right, what’s on your mind?”
“Maybe someone avenged her.”
“Who? Daddy?”
“I wasn’t thinking of him. Why? Do you suspect him?”
“I don’t suspect anything, Alex. Haven’t had time to suspect. It’s not even my fucking case anymore so why should I bother to suspect? But if you’re talking revenge, revenge is usually a family thing. And you told me Burden’s a nut.”
“Not a nut. Narcissistic.”
“Revenge is pretty narcissistic, isn’t it? Playing God, power over life and death. You told me yourself he’s a control freak. Bragged about being good with guns.”
I thought about that. “Planning to talk to him?”
“I’m not talking to anybody. Per the slick fuck.”
“You can’t challenge him?”
He didn’t answer and I regretted asking.
I said, “Permit me a bit more theorizing?”
“Stop asking permission as if I’m some sort of prima donna and just spit it out.”
“When I mentioned revenge, I was thinking of something else. The cabal. Other members. Setting out to avenge her. And carry out the assignment that she failed to complete.”
“Assignment? Alex, if you were serious about political assassination, would you assign someone like her to do it?”
“Granted we’re talking the amateur hour,” I said. “But competence isn’t always the rule of thumb for those kinds of groups, is it? Look at the Symbionese Liberation Army.”
“Ye olde Crispy Critters,” he said. “Yeah, those guys weren’t too swift.”
“But they got famous, didn’t they? Which is what amateurs are after. High profile and a romantic death.”
“If death is romantic, I’m a fucking poet.”
“Holly had a dreary life, Milo. No present, no future. Belonging to a fringe group could have given her purpose. Going out in a blaze of glory might not have looked bad at all.”
“You’re saying she was on a suicide mission?”
“No. But she might not have worried about the risks.”
“A group thing, huh?” he said. “Back to the ninjas. So who killed Novato and disappeared Gruenberg?”
“Maybe that was a dope thing. Or maybe it was the opposition. Right-wing radicals.”
“Two groups of assholes?”
“Why not? Now that you mention it, it brings to mind something I just read scribbled in one of Novato’s books: ‘Same old story: power and money, no matter what wing.’ Maybe what he was referring to was political extremism- and he was becoming disillusioned.”
Milo said, “KKK assholes versus commie scumbags? Very colorful. But before you get carried away, don’t forget that what happened tonight could have had nothing to do with politics- just some jealous john. This could all be related to Cheri. Guys get attached to these girls- it happens more than you’d imagine. Or maybe it was political but had nothing to do with Holly, or Novato, or Gruenberg. Massengil was not Mr. Charm. Could be one of his disgruntled constituents set out to vote with his trigger finger.”
“Not Mr. Charm,” I said, “but popular enough to last twenty-eight years.”
“So much for the incumbency advantage.” A moment later: “I don’t know, Alex. What’s been going on is so weird I don’t even want to apply logic, because when I do, I start doubting the value of logic. One thing you can take comfort in: Your hunch about there being something funny between Massengil and Dobbs was right on.”
I said; “Sloppy seconds. Management consulting. Great way to launder Cheri’s fees.”
“What do you think about what she said- politicos and bondage?”
“Makes sense psychologically. Like you once said, politicians mainline power. For some of them, sex would be just another dominance game. What would be interesting to find out is who else, either here or in Sacramento, was aware of Massengil’s kinks. Who besides Dobbs knew Massengil was carrying on with Cheri. And maybe there were other Cheris. The guy Massengil slugged in the Assembly- DiMarco- would be someone to talk to. What if he found out about it and leaked it- another kind of revenge. Or took a more direct route.”
“Shot them himself?”
“Burr shot Hamilton. White shot Milk and Moscone.”
“Shit,” he said. “All sorts of ways to go. That’s why I wanted to get her down to the station and lean on her some more. I tried to tell Frisk about it, tell him what needed to be done to keep the investigation clean. But he just cut me off. Said ‘Thank you, Detective, everything’s under control.’ As in: Fuck you. I don’t need your faggot ideas.” Milo shook his head. “Fuck it, it’s not my problem. I wash my hands of it. Hate press conferences anyway.”
Saying it too loud and too fast; I wasn’t sure I believed him. That he believed it himself. But this was no time to argue.